


cold coffee and misspelled names

by bishopsknifetrick



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, Fluff, M/M, Teen Rating for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifetrick/pseuds/bishopsknifetrick
Summary: Patrick doesn't like that the new barista can't spell his fucking name out in full.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> unedited. compensation for sucking at updating i love y'all

Patrick has a routine.

He wakes up every morning at seven, spends a half hour lazing about, then frantically uses up his last fifteen minutes to get ready for his classes. This worked for high school and it’s working so far for college. But this time around, since he’s allowed to wake up later, he can actually stop by a coffee shop and grab a cup before he heads to the campus.

When he gets to the coffee shop, there’s a new dude working behind the counters. He’s got tattoo sleeves and, if Patrick’s being honest, doesn’t look like he belongs in here. Whatever, who works here and who doesn’t isn’t of much concern. He just needs to get his coffee and leave before he’s late for his first class.

“Good morning,” The barista tells him, glancing up from wiping off the counters with a rag. “How can I help you?”

“Can I get a medium mocha frappé?” He’s in the mood for something cold. It’ll help wake him up.

“Yeah.” The dude—Pete, his name tag reads—quickly looks over his shoulder to give his co-worker a muttered comment, then turns back to Patrick. “Total’s 4.87. Can I get a name?”

Patrick tells him his name and stands off to the side. It’s a quaint little building, the coffee shop, but they’ve got good pastries and drinks. Not too many people stop by during this time of day; they’re all heading to work or to school.

He waits for a few minutes, arms crossed and tapping his foot against the floor. He’s trying not to fall asleep and staring off into space; Patrick realizes he probably looks really pissed, but that’s nothing to worry about. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone this early.

“Patrick,” Pete calls, sliding his cup over the counter. Patrick picks it up and, after nodding at Pete, leaves.

Out of habit Patrick reads the name written on his cup. He likes giving different names almost everytime he goes, and he’s got a small (clean) collection of his favorites. Not only can he laugh at the stupidity of the names, he can also reuse them at home when he’s running late and can’t make it to the café.

The cup reads _Pat._

Patrick crinkles his nose at the name. He was never one for nicknames, especially Pat, since that was what his mom was called. Oh well, it’s just one cup of many. It just won’t make it into his collection. He took a sip of his coffee, savored the hint of chocolate in the frappe, and continued on his way.

 

o=o=o=o=o

 

He was really, really lucky the coffee shop decided to take him.

Pete was pretty much desperate for any job. Sure, he makes enough to support himself, but he needed extra money on the side so he could treat himself.

The cafe’s in a good part of the city; it isn’t super busy, but busy enough to bring in a steady stream of customers throughout the day. The aesthetic of the building and the quiet talking from the patrons creates a pleasant and welcoming ambience. There’s another dude—barely an adult—who works with him, named Brendon. He’s pretty loud, but he’s a good kid. They keep each other company when the girls are running the cafe.

There’s this thing about the girls. They’re all about the same ages as Pete and Brendon, but they’ve been working at the cafe longer and of course they know how to give orders. They’re intimidating. But Pete’s befriended a couple of them, and they’re real nice once you get to know them. Brendon, on the other hand, isn’t having much luck with them. He’s still trying, though.

“My shift’s over,” Renée tells Pete. She’s giving him a questioning look as she’s drying her hands on a rag. “You think you can handle it here with Brendon?”

“‘Course,” Pete tells her. He doesn’t want to piss her off; she basically decides his salary.

“Alright,” Renée says, skepticism edging her voice. She gives Pete a considering look before finally turning and heading towards the breakroom. Pete lets out a sigh of relief and lets his shoulders drop. Great, now he can keep working, but without the stress of being under his supervisor’s watchful eyes. It’s a slow day anyway.

About half an hour later, this kid walks in. Short, red-brown hair. Could be mistaken for a ginger. Renée’s talked about someone like him; apparently he’s a regular customer and not easily pleased in the morning. Pete can already see that, what with the kid’s RBF.

“Good morning,” Pete says, and reels off the standard customer-employee business talk. 

The kid—Patrick, Pete learns—orders a frappe. It’s a little cold out to be drinking a frappe, but Pete doesn’t judge and tells Brendon to make it. He’s just here to get paid.

Brendon hands Pete the cup a few minutes later. He spies a group of kids heading towards the front door, so he hastily scribbles down _Pat_ in permanent marker and calls out to the kid. He had to be ready to take these teens’ ridiculous orders.

o=o=o=o=o

 

It’s the afternoon; Patrick’s finished all his classes for the day. One thing he’s learned from his older siblings is to have his classes back-to-back, so he didn’t have to constantly go home and get ready two or three times a day. He’s got a composition due tomorrow, so he decides to take advantage of the café’s free WiFi and work while drinking some bomb ass coffee.

He walks in and shivers from the blast of cold air. Why do they insist on keeping the building the same temperature as the Arctic? It’s just. It’s so unnecessary. It’s fucking fall. _In Chicago._ Patrick adjusts the strap on his backpack, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. The textbooks aren’t really helping.

Patrick sets his backpack down on a table near the counter. He’s sure no one will try to take his stuff, so he can leave it there while he orders his drink.

Pete is there, just like yesterday. And he’s the only one out at the moment. Patrick really likes the regular baristas, but he sighs and walks up anyway. It’s not that he doesn’t like Pete. It’s just—he likes to chat while waiting on his coffee. He doesn’t know Pete, so any conversation he makes with him will be undoubtedly awkward. Maybe he’ll warm up to Pete eventually.

“Hi,” Pete says, bracing his arms against the counter. “Uh... Patrick, right?”

Patrick blinks once in surprise, then shakes it off and responds with a half-smile and a “yes”. He isn’t sure why it surprised him that Pete remembered his name; he was working yesterday when Patrick came by, the information’s still fresh. It’s best not to dwell on something as small as this.

“Medium mocha frappe,” Patrick says; he’s already pulling out a few dollar bills. He got the exact price memorized a long time ago.

“I’ll have it ready in a couple minutes,” Pete tells him, taking the crumpled bills and handing Patrick his change. “You’re a regular, aren’t you?”

Patrick presses his lips together and hums an approval. Pete grabs a cup and turns to a machine, brewing the coffee. At least he didn’t have to start the conversation himself.

“I thought so. Renée talks a lot about you. And Alina. Y’know, the girls. Don’t worry, it isn’t anything bad,” Pete adds quickly, glancing over his shoulder, “Mostly it’s stuff like… like what you do in college. They’ve started memorizing all the hats you wear. They talk about that one a lot.”

Pete points with his chin. Patrick doesn’t know what he’s talking about for a moment and he actually has to take off his hat to look at it. And, well. It’s the bingo hat. The stupid one he bought ‘cause it was on clearance; he doesn’t even play bingo.

“I don’t like bingo,” Patrick says sheepishly and slips his hat back on. Pete only chuckles and shakes his head, then slides the cup over to Patrick.

“Then why d’you have a hat that says ‘I heart bingo’?”

“It was on clearance.” Patrick’s on the verge of defensive. Which is a little ridiculous, considering it’s over a hat he bought for three dollars.

“Yeah, sure. How many hats do you even have? I’m pretty sure if I asked Renée right now, she could tell me, like, ten.”

“I have a lot of hats,” Patrick mumbles, grabbing the cup and glancing at the name. _Trick_ is written on the side. “Why can’t you write my full name?”

“It’s quicker,” Pete responds simply. Patrick furrows his brows at that and looks at the name written on the cup again with disdain. He supposes he can accept that. And hey, he actually didn’t throw out his cup from yesterday, so he can put that one and this one together so they spell out his full name. He can work with this.

“I have something to work on,” Patrick says after a second of silence, gesturing with his hand towards his stuff on the table nearby. He isn’t lying just to get out of the conversation. That’s still something he’s trying to do, though. “It’s due soon and I need to get it done as quickly as possible, so.”

Pete nods in understanding and offers a quick “good luck”, to which Patrick responds with a “thank you” and hurries over to his stuff. Yeah, no. That was awkward. The whole thing was so stiff--at least to him--and it almost seemed staged. He isn’t speaking to anyone ever again.

 

o=o=o=o=o

 

Patrick sees Pete at the coffee shop ten times after that. All ten times, they’ve struck up conversation. And out of the total twelve times he’s seen him overall, twelve times out of twelve he’s gotten a cup with some variation of his name.

_Rick-ta-life._

_Pattycakes._

_Tricky Ricky._

...To name a few.

And the worst part of it all? Patrick’s starting to like having Pete around.

Pete wasn’t there a few days ago. That was when Patrick learned that Pete only worked at the cafe part-time. And, admittedly, Patrick was disappointed. It wasn’t his fault Pete was fun to talk to, it’s just—you know. He listened to what Patrick had to say, he could hold a conversation, he _makes_ Patrick want to stay longer than he could. Also, Patrick’s maybe a little not-straight.

Pete’s attractive, he will admit that. However, it’s all a matter of whether Patrick is attract _ed._ And he is. But he was too shy to admit anything. He’s hoping this little crush—god, this isn’t middle school, what the fuck—or whatever the fuck it is passes by quickly enough, because he is _not_ going to see Pete nearly every day and trip over his words every time. They may be friends, but in all honesty they don’t really know each other too well.

Patrick shakes his head and zones back in. He nearly forgot he was on his way to the coffee shop. He could’ve walked out on the street and gotten ran over. No matter—he didn’t get hurt and that’s what counts. Patrick pushes open the front door; for once the temperature in the coffeeshop is warmer than the outside. As expected, Pete’s working the front counter. Pete beams at him and waves him over as he asks, “The usual?”

Patrick only nods as he walks up. The coffeeshop looks a little busier than usual, so he’ll just take his coffee to-go. Pete’s already started on the coffee, so it’ll be quick, in and out.

“Hi, Pete,” Patrick says, leaning against the counter. Pete hums in response and finds a lid for the cup. He snaps it on, scribbles Patrick's name, then asks, “You staying, or is this to-go?”

“To-go,” Patrick responds and checks his phone for the time. Pete nods and hastily scribbles something else—Patrick thinks he’s probably thinking of another name for the cup. That’s happened a couple times, Pete thinking of a “better” name and crossing the old one out. Pete slides the cup towards Patrick, who starts to dig in his pockets for cash.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Pete tells him, “This one’s on the house. I don’t think the girls will mind.”

“Oh—okay, uh. Thank you,” Patrick says, pleasantly surprised. He hesitantly takes the cup, looks down at it, and swirls it around before looking back up and smiling at Pete.

Something about Pete seems a little bit different today. He’ll admit that it’s partially due to the fact that Pete paid for a cup of coffee for him—not even the girls do that—but his demeanor’s a little off, too. Like… the tone of his voice is different. He’s speaking a little faster, too. Patrick isn’t one to pry, though; Pete might’ve had a long night, woke up in a bad mood, Pete’s not gonna be like his usual self all the time and Patrick understands that.

“Bye, Pete. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Patrick,” Pete offers another smile, genuine rather than the fakeass customer smile he uses most of the time. “Good luck with your classes.”

“Thanks!” Patrick calls over his shoulder and leaves the coffeeshop, pulling his jacket close when the cold air bites through. He’s looking forward to ordering hot coffee sometime soon. Speaking of coffee. He hasn’t seen what stupid name Pete’s written down. He turns his cup a couple times to find the black ink, and he notices one thing first.

_Patrick._ That’s all it says. No stupid nickname, no terrible misspelling. Just _Patrick._

And right below it?

xxx-xxxx. call me when you get out.

_xoxo, pete._


	2. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took so long but i think i got an ok epilogue to this. hope you guys enjoy. unbetaed as usual.

It was right at the end of the day when Patrick called Pete. Right after his last class, almost. As soon as he was settled in his apartment and he was sure his roommate wasn’t home, he grabbed his phone and the cup from earlier and punched in the numbers Pete wrote for him.

His fingers shook as he waited for Pete to pick up on the other side of the line. Patrick’s hands were sweating, too—it’d been awhile since he last talked to someone he was interested in. He finally let out a relieved breath when the line clicked and Pete groggily answered “hello?” like he had just woken up from a nap.

They talked. They talked for a long while, about everything—Patrick’s classes, how Chicago was getting really fucking cold and that Patrick should start drinking hot coffee soon, what Pete does aside from being a part-time barista at some indie coffeehouse. And then after probably a half hour into their conversation, Pete asked if they could go out someplace. And, well, Patrick couldn’t say no. 

So here he is, looking at himself in the mirror, threading his fingers through his hair and wondering if his outfit looks casual enough. Is it too casual?

Luckily, they aren’t doing anything fancy—not even going out to eat. Or, at least, eat at a restaurant. Patrick had asked Pete if he should bring any money, and all he got in response was “just buy yourself a coffee like usual, I’ll meet you at the shop”. Oh, and Pete made him promise to buy something warm.

Patrick tugs on his jacket, glancing over himself one final time before grabbing his keys and heading out. He isn’t in a rush, and he doesn’t have to drive twenty miles to make it on time to his classes, so he’ll walk to the coffeehouse. It isn’t that far anyway. It’s the usual: he walks out, puts in his earbuds, digs around his pockets a couple times to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, nearly gets hit by a car like last time. Everyday stuff.

He makes it to the coffeehouse in one piece and relaxes when the warm air hits him. Even then, it feels like the cold air is seeping in, so he pulls his jacket closer to himself and makes his way to the counter. The barista is pleasantly surprised when he orders something other than a frappe.

Patrick waits. He waits, maybe ten, fifteen minutes—he doesn’t mind too much because he was early anyway, and Pete texts him apologizing he’s a little late, says he got caught up in traffic and that the line at the grocer’s was slow. That’s all fine, but Patrick wants to look nonchalant, and he can’t do that if he’s looking up from his phone every time the door opens.

Eventually, when Patrick looks up, it actually is Pete. He’s dressed in skinny jeans, some old band shirt, and a sweater—he looks nice, dressed in something other than his work uniform. He’s wearing a bright smile that he beams at Patrick, who can’t help but smile back. Damn it, he’s so, so fucked already.

“Hi, ‘Trick,” Pete says smoothly as he slides into the seat across. Patrick mumbles a “hello” back, sitting up in his seat and placing his hands around his coffee cup. The warmth briefly calms his nerves.

“I figured we could sit here for a little bit before we go, if that’s okay with you,” Pete says, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the table. He gives Patrick an endearing look and raises an eyebrow in question. “Talk for a few minutes.”

“Yes! Uh, yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” Patrick waves it off, a nervous smile gracing his face. He’d have to get used to talking to Pete, get used to his charisma, otherwise he’d be spending a lot of time awkwardly trying to keep the conversation afloat, only to fall into silence.

“You got any idea where we’re going?” Pete asks, tilting his head just the slightest bit. He looks kind of like a puppy, Patrick thinks to himself. A really dopey puppy.

“None.” Patrick shakes his head, watches as Pete exhales sharply and lets out a small laugh. “None at all.”

“I think you’ll like it. I didn’t wanna take you out somewhere to eat, not yet. Just something casual and fun.” Pete points at Patrick’s cup and gives him a questioning look.

Patrick glances down at his cup, confused and wondering if there is something wrong with it, but when he looks back up at Pete, he understands. He rolls his eyes, unable to fight off the smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and slides the cup across the table towards Pete. The older man gratefully takes the cup of coffee, swirling it a little in his hand and taking a tentative sip. Patrick wasn’t much for hot coffee anyways, except when his heater broke down during the harsh Chicago winters.

The duo talks for a quick ten minutes, Pete asking about how college was treating Patrick and Patrick asking about what Pete does in his spare time. Pete, apparently, was in a band a couple years prior.

“Oh, fuck, you’re _Wentz?_ ” Patrick asks, realization dawning on him as Pete laughs across from him. “Dude, fucking--don’t laugh!”

“Aw, you’re a fan,” Pete says teasingly, watching Patrick scrunch up his nose.

“No, dude—no, I just didn’t know. I’m not a fan,” Patrick stutters out, his ears burning red. No, fucking no, that wasn’t what Patrick meant. “I have a friend who listened to Racetraitor and Arma a while back. It—It’s not something I’d normally listen to.”

“You’re in denial,” Pete muses, a cheeky grin on his face. “You followed me to this new job and got the girls to act like you’re a regular customer. You’re a next-level stalker, aren’t you?”

“Fuck no,” Patrick says, scowling. “You know what? I’m taking back my drink. Give it back.”

o=o=o=o=o

“Guess where we’re going,” Pete says, glancing quickly at Patrick as he drives down the highway. “Guess guess guess.”

“Dude, I have no fucking clue,” Patrick responds, light laughter edging into his voice. “I just know it probably costs money and I feel bad that you’ll have to pay.”

“Patty,” Pete whines and drags out the second syllable. “‘Trick, that’s what a date is for. Did you forget you’re going on one?”

“I still feel bad.”

“I don’t mind, Patrick,” Pete says, shaking his head with a grin on his face. “I really don’t mind. It’s for you. Come on, at least try guessing where we’re going.”

“I’m not gonna try to guess when I have no idea.” Patrick wrinkles his nose and looks out the window briefly to try to catch something he saw out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a secret for a reason. If you tell me, then it won’t be a secret anymore.”

“Fine.” Pete pouts for a second, his bottom lip jutting out before the grin returns full-force a second later. “We’re almost there, you can’t miss it.”

And he was right. When they turn the corner a few minutes later, he sees the big building that obviously stands apart from the rest. An almost childlike feeling of excitement rises within Patrick, and he quickly turns his head to Pete to confirm where they were going. Jesus Christ, this place isn’t super expensive, but it’s still enough to make Patrick feel even more bad about not paying.

“We’re going to the aquarium?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to contain his excitement. Damn, he’s twenty years old and acting like a child.

Pete gives Patrick a blinding smile as he nods. He pulls the car into the parking lot, paying for their space and putting the car in park once they get into their spot. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, doesn’t move, which gives Patrick a sudden burst of nervousness. He taps his foot against the floor of the car before blurting out, “Let me pay for my ticket.”

Pete side-glances at Patrick, a confused expression on his face. “Patrick, I already said you didn’t have to pay. It’s really no problem, I just want you to have fun.”

Patrick lets out a quiet sigh, unable to look away from Pete despite the fact every muscle in him screams at him to. He isn’t sure where this bout of nerves came from; it might just be because it’s his first date with Pete, who is, in all honesty, so much cooler than him. But it might also be him being weird about the whole thing. He hopes he isn’t being weird.

“Come on, we’ve gotta go if we want more time.” Pete gives Patrick a reassuring smile, opening the door and getting out of the car. Patrick follows suit a few seconds later, taking a deep breath just before.

Pete pays for admission (Patrick made a last ditch effort to offer to pay for his ticket, but Pete adamantly told him that it really was fine and that Patrick didn’t owe him; plus the Chicago resident discount made it cheaper) and holds Patrick’s hand as they walk into the building. Pete plucks a paper map from the kiosk, looking briefly at the interactive map on the illuminated screen.

“Dude, I would’ve paid for the dolphin cruise too, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” Pete says while reading the map. Patrick turns red at the comment, opening his mouth to make a remark, but Pete cuts him off with, “What do y’wanna see first?”

Patrick’s hand fidgets around Pete’s as he leans closer to look at the map. Sure, the aquarium isn’t actually that far from where he lives, but he only went a few times before. After a few moments he murmurs, “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Alright,” Pete says, giving Patrick a once-over before putting on the same dazzling smile and saying, “Come on. We can look at the fishes and kiss in the dark.”

Patrick blushes and mutters a snarky remark under his breath, to which Pete laughs and drags him off to some corridor off to the side. The air is cool to the touch and it’s quiet, the only sound being faint conversations from other patrons in other rooms. The corridor has several small displays and tanks—Patrick finds himself mesmerized by one showcasing small, glowing jellyfish.

When they get to the end of the hall, they’re in a large room with a huge glass window; it’s a coral reef. An array of colors dot the tall rocks, reaching all the way up to the surface. Some of the softer corals sway in the current. The room is dark and Patrick can smell the salt water, almost taste it on his tongue. Light filters through the water to create a soothing ambience, and every so often the shadow of bass swimming slowly cuts through. Schools of fish drift, their shining silvery forms rippling. A turtle glides past easily and gracefully. It’s serene.

There’s no one else in the room. Patrick and Pete stand side by side, tilting their heads up to watch the scene. Pete’s hand is still wrapped around Patrick’s, the only warmth Patrick can feel. Patrick shuffles closer to Pete, muttering an “it’s cold” when he hears Pete chuckle. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Pete speaks up, his voice quiet and soft.

“Do you like this?”

“...Yes,” Patrick responds. It’s so quiet that he could hear the sound of the water right on the other side of the glass. He moves his head to look at Pete, a small smile on his face.

“I think I’ll take you up on your offer you made earlier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this marks the end of my coffeeshop au—or does it? haha, but seriously i honestly couldn't think of anything to continue it. i hope it wasn't bad! as always kudos and comments feed the writing machine. thank you!


End file.
